


Figured You Out

by loveanddeathandartandtaxes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Deductions, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveanddeathandartandtaxes/pseuds/loveanddeathandartandtaxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I mean, you fucking died for me, Sherlock. You <i>killed</i> for me. Magnussen knew the truth of it, didn’t he? You would do anything for me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Figured You Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shahrazaad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shahrazaad/gifts).



“Oh, Jesus,” John mumbles. Sherlock, his hand still holding the mug of tea he is placing in front of John, looks to him. Pain is registering across John’s face.

“What is it.”

“I think… I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Very well done, John, but I solved the case yesterday and Gordon arrested him this morning.” He flips his phone in his hand to indicate - pointlessly, but John liked a bit of theatrics; they’re both drama queens - how this chain of events has transpired.

“What? No, not the - were you going to tell me, I was worried about that. No, you. I’ve figured you out.”

Sherlock sits opposite him.

“Have you.”

“You make me tea. You - you make me tea just how I like it, without being asked, because you know I always like tea first thing in the morning.”

“Well-”

“No, wait, shut up, let me finish. You involve me in your work, you ask me questions when you could just look it up. You’re getting better at keeping the flat tidy and being civil to Harry, and I know that’s not easy. So, you are making an effort to keep me happy here. You want me to stay.”

“We’re friends, John, best friends, you said that.”

“We are. I’m not finished. You swing between these casual touches _all the time_ and being scared to touch me at all. You listen to me when I worry about your awful sleeping habits or try to feed you. And you put so much of your work on hold to plan my wedding. That’s not just friends, you know.”

“John, I…”

He can’t think of anything to say to defend himself. John is treading dangerously close to the truth.

“And that speech, Jesus! The whole - you said you had a lifetime to prove you - you - my god, and even before that, you saved me from being fucking burnt alive. _She_ told me how you figured out how to get there in time, and I know what state you were in at that point.”

“ _Brilliant_.” The word drops from his lips without conscious thought. Something is about to happen, maybe ruining them forever, but he cannot stop admiring John. “How-”

“Mycroft told me about Serbia. And that after I - god, I attacked you and you just let me? Why would you - but you knew I was angry, knew how to let me get it out.”

“You’re angry now,” he observes. John is radiant.

“Not at you, never at - and there was that case, I could never understand why you took it, you hate clients worrying about spouses and affairs, but - it was us, wasn’t it. The client needed to leave her terrible marriage to be with her lover. It was _us_. I mean, you fucking died for me, Sherlock. You _killed_ for me. Magnussen knew the truth of it, didn’t he? You would do anything for me, because - because you love me. You’ve been in love with me for _years_. Am I right? Did I-” he falters. “Did I get it right?”

“Fascinating,” Sherlock breathes, and looks to the floor. He understands why other people hate being deduced: he feels raw and defenceless. Standing gives him at least the image of stability. With great effort he breathes again.

Smaller hands take his own; work-roughened, gentle hands. John is neither generous nor miserly about touching him, but their hands have not clasped together like this since Moriarty ruined everything.

When John squeezes his hands, he risks looking at him, and is captured by his eyes. They are soft, like they were at his wedding, when he did not let himself hope. Now, unbidden, hope flares.

John opens his mouth, and Sherlock steels himself.

John swallows and takes a deep breath. Sherlock might shatter from nervous anticipation.

“You _must_ know I feel the same, Sherlock. I - I always have. Since that first night at Angelo’s.”

His hands clench, tight, too tight, and John winces but does not pull away.

“ _John_.”

There is nothing else he can say. As it is, that single, beautiful word sounds cracked and desperate. John’s face only gets softer and more lovely as he looks at him, and then he begins to smile. A hand wriggles free to rest on one cheek, and it steadies him as John presses his lips against the other.

“It’s always been you, Sherlock Holmes. Always,” he whispers against his skin, and kisses him again.

“Always.” The tip of his nose is blessed with a kiss.

“Always.” His forehead.

“Always, always.” His temple, his eyelid. Sherlock realises he has closed his eyes, overcome.

“Always.” His cheek again, closer to his mouth. It feels like his lips are tingling.

“Always, John. Please.”

Both John’s hands are cradling his face and his own are pressing into John’s jumper. It’s been a long time since he’s kissed anyone properly - and he’s never kissed anyone like John before. When he parts his lips, John licks into his mouth, sure and warm and _right_.

**Author's Note:**

> [(on tumblr)](http://loveanddeathandartandtaxes.tumblr.com/post/121343950815/elizathehobo-deduce-my-heart-a-want-a-scene)


End file.
